A few weeks ago, I went to Ravenswood Manor Park for a neighborhood concert. It’s a small patch of trees and greenery with an adjoining playground where three residential streets dead end.

It’s home to a handful of great old trees and is resting spot for a few benches. A trellised redwood shelter is happily situated in the center. During past summers, I’ve unknowingly tripped upon small theatrical productions taking place there.

Though not restricted to area residents, I found out about the Spektral Quartet’s chamber concert there when I was walking my dog, India. I saw a flyer in the window of the music studio next to Le Petit Ballet, where SUV driving moms drop off their munchkins for dance lessons.

I had never heard of Spektral before, but I liked what their flyer noted would be included in their program. The program was to include a few traditional chamber pieces by the likes of Mendelssohn and some contemporary chamber works.

CONTEMPORARY CHAMBER? Is that some sort of oxymoron? I didn’t think contemporary composers gave much attention to developing works for two violins, viola and cello?

But their mission involves both showcasing local (composing) talent and creating programs that bring out something special about the venue.

On this perfect mid-summer night’s eve, in a park only blocks from where I spend far too many nights on my couch tuned in to whatever options Comcast is offering, I gave in to the spell of the Spektral Quartet.

Here were top-notch musicians bowing their way through works by Schubert and Steven Reich (a peer of Phillip Glass).

Even before a member of the group shared a few remarks about their philosophy, I had already slipped into appreciation mode. It seems, in grokking on this site-specific concert, I was the perfect audience for what they wanted to impart.

When sitting down to listen to trained musicians, it’s automatic to tune up your listening senses.

The precision of their runs, their changing pace and dynamics seemed to render the natural noises of the environment (the sound of the descending gates at the nearby train crossing, pets and their people enjoying the park) especially BEAUTIFUL.

The incidental sounds of our lives can always be thought of as the background score to our personal movie. Although usually random, they seem to fit the whole of our experience in the moment and are worth remembering.

Sound itself is MUSIC.

I was becoming a little intoxicated by this thought.

After one piece, a member of the ensemble provided a little narrative on the origins of the composition and asked the composer to step forward. True to the blurb on their website, they purposely mixed the contemporary and local with the timeless and European.

A little buzz traveled around the park as people on their folding chairs and blankets looked around to see if the composer turned out to be sitting close by.

It was a special thrill I think we shared — to think that there was a composer among us; to imagine that something or someone special could go undetected or unrecognized until the right moment.

Like the incidental sounds of the summer evening contributing to the atmosphere, knowing that there was an artist in our midst, also seemed enhance my pleasure.

Enjoying what’s obviously present in the moment was wonderfully paired with not knowing who might be sitting next to you and holding the possibility that things reveal themselves at the right time.

That we can hear sounds we don’t normally pay attention to as MUSIC and embrace the possibilities of who we might find ourselves sitting or walking alongside us is no small thing.